Those Better Years
the farm yielded
more than what the
storehouse can
ever hold
the mangoes ripen
with no one to
pick them up
the birds feast on the
grains and the butterflies
feast on fruit juices
dropping to the
grassy ground
the rivers are clean
crystal clear creeks
with fish teeming
the seas have white
seagulls over them
the bottom all filled
with corals and
fish crowding
the crabs bite us
when we pass the river
we never pick any
the geese abound
and no one uses a gun
to kill anyone
there were no cities then
no tyrants no conquerors
there was peace
and progress
until the discoverers came
and named our lands
in the name of their king.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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